


You're The One Who Cries When You're Alone

by boltschick2612



Series: Shattered [9]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Los Angeles Kings, M/M, POV First Person, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltschick2612/pseuds/boltschick2612
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think that I can't see right through your eyes, scared to death to face reality. No one seems to hear your hidden cries, you're left to face yourself alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're The One Who Cries When You're Alone

**Author's Note:**

> As with the rest, told in first person, but this time from Gagne's POV. Takes place right where "Holding Onto Strings Better Left To Fray" left off, with the two of them sitting on the floor and picking up the photos. Title taken from "Where Will You Go" by Evanescence. Story not true. Hope you enjoy!

In all the years I've know Vincent, I've never broken a promise to him. Not once, and I don't intend to start now. My promises are one of the few things I still have left in this world, and I wasn't about to break one this simple. I may not be able to play hockey or even keep my family together, but I'm certainly able to help Vincent pick up the photographs that had been spilled to the floor.  
  
Besides, I need to do this for him. I need to give him a normal world to wake up to, a world where photographs weren't scattered about, but put back in their rightful place.  
  
It seems like years we've been sitting on the hardwood floor, trying to put all the pictures back in the box where they belonged. It would go a lot faster, with a lot less heartache for the both of us, if we wouldn't stop to look at every photo before gently placing it back into the satin covered box. Vincent will pick one up, look it over, and I can immediately tell who was in the picture by the look that crossed his face. If he lets out a small smile, and his eyes light up, the photograph was more than likely of his children or Caroline. If his eyes grow dark and tormented, I knew right away the picture contained an image of Brad. There seems to be far too many times when that tortured, haunted look would flash in his eyes. Once was once too many.  
  
Every time his eyes grow dark and his lips set in a thin frown, I can't help but let the anger grow inside me. I hate seeing him like that, he doesn't deserve it. His world has been torn apart, ripped to shreds, shattered like a fragile snowglobe, and the picturesque world inside it was no more.  
  
This is torture for me as much as it is for him. He's going through it, but I have to sit to the side and watch it all unfold, helpless to do anything except fight to keep my emotions under wraps. I can't let him see how I want to utterly fall apart with every pained look that crosses his face. I can't let him know how I want to rip each offending photograph from his hand and tear it to shreds. I can't let him see the fury coursing though me, the fury at someone I hardly knew.  
  
The anger just feels wrong, somehow. It's almost like...how could I be mad at Brad? He's gone, and what good would it even do? All it would do was put myself and Vince through more pain. No, I have to keep it to myself. I can't become the lastest source of his anguish, no matter what the cost to myself.  
  
Just when I thought I had seen enough, can't take any more of the sadness that permeated his eyes, something unusual happens. I'm shocked to hear a light chuckle push past his lips, and when I shoot my gaze up to meet his eyes, there's a smile on his face. His eyes are alight with laughter, and I can't help but put on a smile of my own as he hands me the picture he's been holding.  
  
"You remember this, Gags?"  
  
I reach out to take the photograph from him, my fingers brushing over his. There's a lingering to the touch, on both our parts, and it takes my breath away. Maybe it's the electrifying contact, or the thrill of seeing him smile, but the feeling around us changes in an instant. No longer are we sitting amongst evidence of memories past, memories that were now tainted by death and indecencies. It feels as if we had been here for years, his hand in mine, his eyes staring into my soul. I don't know if he feels it too, I can only hope he does, if for no other reason then to steal him from this painful world. My hand is still on top of his, my touch heavy on his skin, and all I can think is how bad I want to kiss him. How bad I want to feel his lips on mine, how I want to make him forget every broken memory and heart wrenching moment.  
  
It would be so easy...yet so hard.  
  
I'm still not even sure what possessed me to want to take his face in my hands and kiss his pain away. The shock of it all only hits my brain after the impulse does. I never told Vince this, and never would, but I always found it hard to understand what he had with Brad. I didn't understand how he could have a beautiful and happy life with Caroline, yet still fall for his best friend. Now I know, I finally understand. The heart wants what the heart wants, it knows no boundaries or gender.  
  
My heart wants to show him that everything is going to be alright, if only for the length of a kiss.  
  
Time seems to freeze as I lean slightly forward, slightly into his space. I run my thumb over the top of his hand as it rests in mine, and....  
  
....I slide the picture from his grip.  
  
I can't do it, not here, not now. As right as the impulse felt at the time, the decision to let it pass is just as right.  
  
I briefly let my eyes flick over the picture, not really focusing on the object in my hand. I'm trying to concentrate on it, I really am, but my mind is preoccupied with the kiss I had almost pressed to his waiting lips.  
  
The picture, I think, is of the two of us, sometime last season when I played for the Lightning. Truth is, my vision is obscured by tears and my mind by doubt. I can't let him see either.  
  
I'm pulled from my thoughts by the sound of his voice, and it's no longer filled with laughter as it had been just a few moments earlier. The sadness had returned, the agony had found his life once more.  
  
"So, we're just going to ignore the fact that I called him? We're not going to talk about it, are we?"  
  
Right. The shocking confession he made in a trembling voice only a few short moments after I walked in to find him knelt amongst a pile of scattered photographs. I hadn't forgotten, although I wish that maybe I had. I can't look up to meet his eyes, but I can feel them burning into me with no doubt a questioning stare. He wants me to say something, he wants me to placate his mind, tell him that he had made the right choice. I can't.  
  
"What's there to say, Vincent?"  
  
I hear his breath escape him in a disappointed sigh. I know he hopes for more of a conversation on the matter, but the truth is, part of me doesn't want to venture down that road. I don't want to know how someone could betray this man, as knowing would only give rise to more anger. I can't afford to become victim to such an emotion.  
  
How can I be strong for him, yet give into the weakness of anger? How could I plead with him to let it go, when I myself can not? I can't beg him to bury the secrets with the dead, only to dig them up myself.  
  
When I finally feel like I can meet his eyes and look up again, he is staring at the floor and trailing his fingers along the swirls in the wood grain. Defeat is written all over his face, and I know immediately what he was thinking. He thinks I don't get it, that I don't understand what he's going through, but I do.  
  
On the outside, he's the Captain every second of every day. He plays the role of all he longs to be...structured, serious, and always in control. What he doesn't think I understand is who he really is when no one else is around.  
  
He's the one that cries when he's alone.  
  
If I had to be honest with myself, I should have expected Vince to call and seek the truth, and I guess I can't really blame him, either. Anyone else would have fallen into the same trap, wanting to know the truth, even if the answer drives a dagger straight to your heart. I would have done the same thing.  
  
I did do the same thing.  
  
As much as I wanted do to something nice for Vincent, shopping for groceries wasn't my only motive for leaving the house.  
  
He may have forgotten what today was, not that I really expected him to remember, but I can't forget, as much as I wanted to. I've tried to block it from my mind since the second the harsh words left my wife's lips, telling me to leave. Today is...would have been...our wedding anniversary.  
  
Waking in the guest bedroom this morning, I almost forgot where I was. I half expected to wake with my wife nestled beside me, maybe one or both of our young children wedged between us. I never expected to wake in a cold, lonely bed, in the house of my grieving friend.  
  
I must have laid in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to search for memories of my wife's voice. It struck me as odd how little time has passed, yet how faded the memories were, how hard they were to find. I wondered then if it was like that for Vincent.  
  
Does he have to lay in bed at night, searching for the sound of Brad's voice, trying to recall what he even looked like?  
  
I can only hope not.  
  
The dim memories I held of her seemed to be fading by the moment, and what little recollections I had of my family seemed to be slipping through my fingers with each breath I took. The sight of her face, the sound of my daughter's laughter, the way my son would smile, all fleeting from my consciousness with each second the clock ticked off.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity spent in the lonely space of my mind, I knew I had to steal back the memories that had been robbed from me. I had to hear her voice again. I had to call her, ask if she missed me, if she regretted making me leave. I wanted...needed...to hear her voice, begging and pleading with me to return. I needed to seek out my own truth, I needed to know if she missed me, much like Vincent needed to know if there was any validity behind his greatest fear.  
  
I also knew I couldn't reach out to her here, Vincent couldn't be allowed to see the side of me that would utterly fall apart the second she answered the phone.  
  
Sitting in the parking lot of the store, my cell pressed to my ear, I never wanted to hear the sweet lilt of my wife's voice more than I did in that instant. My heart was beating out of my chest when she finally answered, and a wave of regret washed over me. What could I have possibly done to make her feel as if her life would be better lived without me? My voice escaped me, disconnected from my body, seemingly coming from somewhere else. I can't even remember my words to her, as I wasn't focused on them. All I focused on was what I heard. I heard the sounds of my beautiful children in the background, I heard her words, but it was what I didn't hear that will forever haunt me.  
  
I didn't hear sadness or regret in her voice, and I didn't hear her begging me to come back. The second the call ended, I threw my phone to the floor of the car and completely fell apart, just as I knew I would. The sobs wracked through my body, and by the time I finally pulled myself from the car, the last shards of daylight were slipping away, just like everything I knew. There was no more family for me to come home to, no more hockey to fill my days.  
  
Thinking about it now, thinking about everything I've ever loved being painfully out of my reach, has me bordering on the dangerous brink of my emotions. I try to push the thoughts from my mind, if only to keep Vincent from seeing everything I've fought so hard to keep from him, but he must have seen the pain flash in my eyes. The next thing I feel is his hand is on my knee, and his eyes burning into mine as I look up. I wonder how long he had been staring at me with concern written on his face before he decided to break the silence.  
  
"I can finish this if your head is bothering you. Go rest."  
  
Do I lie, and pretend like that's all it really is, a lingering concussion? Or do I admit to him that the pain is emotional, and not physical, like I'm so used to it being?  
  
"No, actually, my head is fine."  
  
That isn't enough to extinguish the fire of his worry, and his expression remains unchanged. His eyes stay trained on me, no doubt searching for signs of what I'm truly thinking. All I can do is let out a breathy whisper, his gaze seemingly robbing me of air.  
  
"Really. I'm fine."  
  
I swear, if he doesn't break his gaze from mine soon, I'm going to regret not kissing him when I had the chance.  
  
His eyes finally fall away from mine, and I spend the next quickly passing seconds fighting for air, and trying to regain my composure. I don't expect his voice to fill the air again, and his words send a shock through my system.  
  
"I know what it is. Today was your anniversary, non?"  
  
I can't help but notice how tiny his voice sounds, how sheepish, yet at the same time, there was something else skirting the edges of his thick voice. There was the unmistakable twinge of anger. Does he feel towards Karine as I do towards Brad?  
  
All I can do is stare at the floor, trying to hide my eyes, my face, and my emotions as I offer him something that wasn't even close to the truth. "Really? I hadn't noticed. I guess maybe."  
  
"You're a horrible liar. I was at the wedding, Simon," he says through a breathy laugh.  
  
That day seems a lifetime ago. I had always thought the promise of happiness, the feelings I felt on that day, would never elude me. I always thought I'd have them to hold onto. I can't let my sadness be his problem, though. He's got enough of his own.  
  
I almost don't register his movements until he's standing over me, lightly brushing his fingers through my hair. So many times tonight, his movements, his words, his looks, have stolen the words from my mouth and the thoughts from my mind. Now was no different as he lets his fingers trail down my face until his hand is finally resting on the shoulder. I look up at him as he offers me his free hand.  
  
"Wha-What are you doing, Vince?"  
  
His hand doesn't move, he's waiting for me to take it.  
  
"Come on. We're going to talk. Well, you're going to talk, and I'm going to listen."  
  
I don't know if I can give him what he wants. It isn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't allowed to be broken, but he is, and I'm supposed to be strong for him. How can I show strength, if I expose just how vulnerable and weak I am underneath it all?  
  
A small part of me knows that I'll have to give into it all, and let Vince be there for me. I know I'll have to let the wall down, if only for one night, and let him in. Because I know who I am.  
  
I'm the one who cries when I'm alone.


End file.
